


To Have Everything

by RecreationalSunshine (SwashbuckLore)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Blackmail, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Caught, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotionally Repressed, Feels, Feral Behavior, Happy Ending, Historical Inaccuracy, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Insomnia, Kidnapping, Lack of Communication, M/M, Masks, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nobility, Panic, Physical Abuse, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rutting, Secrets, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Tony Stark Feels, Veterans, War, Worry, georgette heyer!verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-03-20 05:18:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18986068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwashbuckLore/pseuds/RecreationalSunshine
Summary: The coded message sent all sorts of things whirling through Tony’s head. Foremost, something to do, something that hinted at getting to know Steve’s most pressing concerns better, something that would get him away from the strangling, smothering atmosphere of neverending parties, something that might grant him a few days of privacy. He had to get to the east estate, the main site of this distracting ‘he’.





	1. Have the World; Just Want You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deathofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=deathofstars).



> In response to a prompt for the 300 members exchange!  
> -historical setting  
> -a/b/o  
> -arranged marriage, one of the spouses had a lover before & happy ending for all three together
> 
> So. I had this all written out on an experimental app on my phone, and you should never do this because I uploaded the original story, and then clicked yes to update my phone, and when I woke up, not only had the upload apparently not gone through, but the update had wiped the app's saved works and history :/ It was the only completed copy.
> 
> So. This is a rewrite, and I'm not going to end on the cliffhanger, this is just all I've been able to somewhat satisfactorily recover - I swear I'm writing the rest but the next scene I rewrote like 8 times and I'm trying to remember what version I went with. Will be updated and finished asap.

Tony should have been pleased and proud beyond belief. He was edging towards his prime in body, beauty, and brain. Last Season had been his first season, and he had managed to get engaged and married in short order. Not only that, but the Alpha he had married was known for his honor, his elegance, his particular influence in the war and then society. It was like a fairy story, they said; that Tony’s Alpha had done all that he had and yet survived to come home and start a proud new line of Rogers’.

Tony went from being the talk of the Season, as he had worked hard to be, to practically being royalty. He had any invite he wanted; he had every luxury that could be dreamed of; his husband owned a plentiful amount of the most beautiful properties in the kingdom; he was living in a society omega’s most cherished of hopes and dreams. 

And yet.

Tony was not pleased nor proud. There was the matter of manipulation edging on blackmail; Tony had overheard Howard speaking with His Grace, Duke Rogers, in the Stark townhome library. The scents of sly smugness, a very Howard scent, and anger, aligning powerfully with Rogers, had been distinct even in the hallway. His Grace had proposed to Tony the very next private conversation they’d had. It had been a calm, clinical conversation. The proposal had been accepted, naturally, and plans arose like towering walls, ushering Tony into a new life: one that had no place for Tony’s natural interests.

Since he could sneak into the gentleman’s workshops at his father’s properties, Tony’d been impossible to keep out of them by any amount of verbal persuasion or threat of lost privilege. Howard’s drunken rage, actually, was about the only thing that could keep the omega away from his preferred method of invention. 

The infinitesimal amount of people who had known about Tony’s designs had expressed stunned admiration. It wasn’t, of course, the done thing to have an omega designing weaponry and technology, so Howard had kept it very private and profited fantastically off Tony’s genius. It stung. In their family portrait, Howard had been depicted with the sheaf of designs while Tony had been given a white rose. They’d had to replace the flower a few times due to Tony snapping the stalk, simmering under his smile. 

But family secrets must be kept. Apparently at any cost. 

Before Tony’s marriage, Howard had invited his son to the library. The stink of liquor and aggression had filled the air with a near palpable haze. Howard had clearly explained that Tony was to settle neatly into his appropriate place in society post-marriage; therefore, there should not, would not, must not be any more inventing. The command, delivered in an explicit snarl, had evoked the reaction in Tony that Howard had to have suspected it would - the administered bruises, as severe as they were, were gone by the final wedding fittings. And between the blows, Howard had enlightened Tony that should the inventing continue, Howard would ensure everyone Tony loved would suffer. Lady Maria, Jarvis, the workshop servants Dume’ and Beurre-doigt. Howard, due to his and Tony’s inventions, had the Army’s ear - he could even get Lt. Rhodes dismissed on false charges or sent to an area Rhodey would be certain to die in inglorious battle.

So family secrets were kept. Tony paid for his heart with empty hands and a frantic mind. Designs upon designs spilled through his dreams and waking thoughts, but he kept them off paper, mute. Occasionally, he would trace lines over his skin with his fingertips, mathematics and machinery, but only in the dead of night, when one could hear the ticking of the clock in the hallway from the bedrooms due to the unearthly silence everywhere else, when he lay alone and wondered how much longer it would take to go utterly mad.

He had no right to go mad, and this was maddening in and of itself. His marriage would be considered a smashing success by near everyone he knew. A fantastic match, a true gentleman, a secure future of high society influence and eventually a litter or two of heirs.

A fairy story it was not, despite the numerous trappings: His Grace danced the waltz with Tony at balls; His Grace talked kindly to Tony over the breakfast table; His Grace allotted a generous allowance for Tony’s wardrobe, even allowing Tony to opt for the more daring fashions for omegas - things edging into what was considered Alpha fashion. His Grace approved Tony’s gatherings, provided a quality team of horses and several lovely carriages, took Tony to the opera, smiled at Tony’s murmured commentaries at the opera, gifted Tony with resplendent pieces of jewelry, remembered Tony’s small preferences like gold embroidery thread versus silver. He had never once grabbed Tony or struck him in private. He had never gotten abominably drunk, and he didn’t engage in gambling beyond what any highborn gentleman is expected to do with his peers. He hadn’t even raised his voice around Tony. He was responsible with his holdings, aware of his political duties, attentive to the public signs of a strong marriage. It was the private signs they struggled with.

His Grace was not a frequent disturbance to Tony’s bouts of insomnia.Tony fiercely valued the small freedom of an empty bed - time to him and him alone - but he ached with the chilly loneliness that freedom cost him. They took care of each other during the ruts and heats they both endured, but the night hours between those urgent periods found them in separate beds. Even during their ruts and heats, Steve was distant. He neither degraded nor adored Tony; they existed in a sphere of respect and polite connection. Tony felt rather like he might hold the same significance as a particularly well-bred horse or piece of expensive art in Steve’s affections. Tony scoffed to himself, then, recalling the smile on Steve’s face after a ride. There was more evident genuine love between the equine animals and the gentleman than had ever been evident in their marriage. 

Tony had tried, during the holiday house party, to evoke a deeper passion in His Grace, but all his carefully calculated and flawlessly executed plans had come to naught. Perhaps Steve had appraised Tony differently during those weeks, but the glint in his eyes had faded quickly without Tony continually exerting himself. So Tony stopped exerting himself. And here they were. 

Lately, Tony had begun to wonder if Steve’s passions lay elsewhere. He would not be the first nor the last gentleman to visit lightskirts in lieu of a marriage bed. Steve was out late; his letters went straight to the study rather than the dish in the breakfast area; he had opted out of the latest social events that Tony had attended; he had been on several long trips recently. However, Tony doubted that Steve was letting forth boundless waves of emotion upon the typical lady of fortune. Those women had their own society, and gossip was an enormous part of that. It was hard to think Steve would lay his emotions open before people he could not entirely trust.

It was the swelling, unnamed emotion that was beginning to be evident even around Tony that Tony wondered about the most. He was positive it wasn’t besotted puppy love or even the poetic anguish; any attempt to question Steve lead to a full renewal of the polite, attentive persona he wore in public. It was painful to see his eyes empty of whatever had been churning back there and his face stiffen into a handsomely smiling marble effigy. Tony had gotten into the study a few times during Steve’s absences, but he barely had any time to find clues before one faithful servant or another appeared to usher Tony out of His Grace’s private space. Apparently they’d reported him, too, for the Duke inquired as to whether or not Tony was looking for a new novel that night at dinner. Tony bit back the swell of questions, explanations, jokes, and frustrations, finished chewing the bite he was on, and politely asked Steve for a recommendation on poetry. 

Fortune favored him the next morning. In his pile of letters, there was an envelope containing a innocuous note full of classified code. Tony, familiar with the trappings of military code via Howard, decoded it over the breakfast table, his fruit and toast forgotten. 

‘We are unsuccessful, Colonel. He has lately left signs of his presence at your main estate in the east, but he remains an elusive ghost. Are you certain you wish to continue pulling on this thread?’

The coded message sent all sorts of things whirling through Tony’s head. Foremost, something to do, something that hinted at getting to know Steve’s most pressing concerns better, something that would get him away from the strangling, smothering atmosphere of neverending parties, something that might grant him a few days of privacy. He had to get to the east estate, the main site of this distracting ‘he’. 

Tony hurried up to his rooms and began packing a bag. The personal servant that had been assigned to Tony upon Tony’s marriage came in just as he snapped the bag shut. “Your Lordship, what -?”

“I need to be at the east estate by this afternoon, no later than tomorrow morning.” Tony explained. “Pack me enough clothing to last a few days, and ask one of the others to pack a full fortnight after that and send the trunk as soon as they can.”

“What of the parties you are expected at these next two weeks?” the maid ventured, pulling pieces from the wardrobe. 

“Send them all cordial notes explaining that I believe I have caught something and need fresh air to banish it.” Tony waved a hand. “Please pack clothing I can move freely in. I’m looking for practicality not fashion at the east estate.”

Though he could smell the questions wafting off her, she did as he said, and he had a carriage and his temporary bags were being loaded onto it by the time that someone alerted His Grace. Steve found Tony in the sitting room, doing his best not to rock with impatience. 

“Anthony?” he queried. 

“Steven.” Tony returned. 

“Where are you swooping off to so urgently? Why?”

“I have let my servant know that I was feeling less than healthy.”

“You appear to be feeling fine.”

“I have received a letter from an old friend with distressing news, and wish to handle myself in private.” Tony said, more quietly. “There is nothing in town that will cheer me, and I do not wish to make a spectacle of my pain for society. Therefore, I am traveling to the east estate, and I will remain there until I feel up to parties once more.”

Steve’s eyes were sympathetic. Tony’s heart was almost beating out of his chest.

“Very well. Should you like my company?” He sank onto the couch next to Tony, looking large and warm enough to shield any omega from any grief. Should Tony have been actually grieving, this offer likely would have set off abominable tears in Tony.

Tony hesitated a split second longer than he should have. “Not at the present.” he managed. 

“Very well.” Steve met Tony’s eyes, “Should that change, the offer stands. I am a letter and a ride away.”

It was things like this that made Steve’s usual polite detachment so painful. He was earnest here, genuinely offering to drop his duties to be with Tony in a difficult time. Why did it take difficult times to get this out of him? Why couldn’t Tony as himself ordinarily evoke that same sincerity? It chewed at an aching piece of him, Howard’s sneering contempt ringing through his mind. 

The butler appeared in the doorway to inform Tony that the carriage was ready for him, and Steve pressed a gentle kiss to Tony’s knuckles, and Tony was off. The town flew by; the countryside became a blur. He eventually drifted off, propped against a corner of the carriage, its lone passenger. 

They arrived at the estate that evening due to the excellency of Steve’s horses and Tony’s continual impatience at every stop. He couldn’t do more than coffee at the rest houses, and it left him jittery and thrumming in his skin by the time the estate mansion came into view. Then there was the whole performance of Tony meeting with the staff, explaining more luggage was on the way, that he was here to recover for a while, that the gold bedroom would do wonderfully until his typical chambers could be adequately prepared, sometime tomorrow. He declined dinner but accepted the offer a light tray of refreshment delivered to his room, and asked that his bags be placed in the room and then he be left entirely alone for the remainder of the night. The housekeeper looked at him strangely, but agreed. Tony sighed internally at the gossip he was likely starting, but couldn’t manage more than a sigh. 

In the blue bedroom, alone at last, Tony shed his constricting traveling clothes, and pulled on the outfit he’d packed in his personal bag - sturdy trousers, a dark shirt, a thin but strong-woven coat with a multitude of pockets. Into the pockets went his lockpicks, his few salvaged tools, a modified watch and compass, a packet of matches, a handful of twine, three separate types of knives, and so on. It took an excruciating eternity for the household to settle down, but he thanked his stars that this was a country household and not the city one. They would have been about until long after midnight were this the townhouse. 

The blue bedroom had the enormous advantage of being next to a tree. Tony was into the branches and down the trunk and off into the gardens in under a few minutes. Under the faint moonlight, he studied the suddenly ominous decorative hedges, and wondered where to start. The code had told Tony that there were lately signs of the ghost here, not what the signs were nor where they were. Tony frowned. Were he a ghost, where would he leave signs … ? He decided to start at the gardening shed and work his way around. He had until four or five in the morning to figure this out. 

The gardening shed held no signs he was aware of. The carriage house, the dowager house, the recesses of the maze - nothing. Tony eyed the mansion. Would this person dare to go inside? The attics, apart from the servants quarters, could be a good bet. Maybe the wine cellars. He shoved down the little voice in his head that said these were all places Tony had hidden from Howard at the Stark estate. 

As Tony started surreptitiously up the lawn, heading for the blue bedroom tree, a low snarl filled the air. Tony had enough time to scent feral Alpha before something hit me in the middle of the back and he went face-down into the turf. 

He breathed through his nose, the taste of earth and grass in his mouth doing little to cover up the unwashed scent of an Alpha, angry and protective, feral, directly over him. “Thief?” a low, raspy voice demanded. 

“No.” Tony mumbled indignantly into the lawn. 

“Assassin?” The Alpha’s voice rumbled into Tony’s spine.

“What? No! I’m -”

“Kidnapper.” The Alpha decided. A cold point dug into Tony’s neck, and everything went fuzzy. 

\--------

When Tony could see straight again, he was tied to a chair in a little hut he’d never seen before. The stink of the feral Alpha filled the room, but the Alpha was nowhere to be seen. Tony assessed himself. No new pains, beyond a headache. No ache between his legs, good news. No cuts or bruises. The ropes were harsh against his thin shirt, as his coat was nowhere to be found, but that seemed to be the only difference. The moonlight through several windows in the ceiling illuminated the room in an unearthly black-and-white. It didn’t help Tony’s panic.

He had, he believed, been neatly captured by the ghost. Who happened to be a feral Alpha. He let his head slump forward onto his chest. Brilliant, Tony. He’d managed to get himself kidnapped by an ex-soldier or criminal. The two options weren’t mutually exclusive, either. If the Alpha had nefarious plans, Tony hadn’t left anyone any information that would help him out now. Even if the Alpha wanted a ransom, Tony was going to have blown his entire act as a good omega, and his honor was going to be impugned, and he was going to be part of the biggest scandal this season, and, and, and,

The thing that didn’t add up was that the ghost had let off a protective scent when he believed Tony was a threat to the estate. Had he staked his claim? Only one criminal allowed on the premises, and it wasn’t Tony?

His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of a door opening behind him. He twisted to see as he scented. Indeed, the ghost was back. Damn it.

“Who are you?” The ghost rumbled.

Tony reminded himself to keep breathing under the weight of an Alpha trying to demand something from him. Answer honestly, and face trouble if this ghost wasn’t a friend of Steve’s, or answer dishonestly, and face trouble if this ghost was a friend of Steve’s.


	2. Who Sinks, & Who Swims

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He ought to sit up. Ought to smile through the pain. Instead, gentle fingers slowly curled around his jaw; Tony winced instinctively at the power in the hard cold fingers. However, the grip remained kind as he was coaxed into looking at the Alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs in end notes - lemme know if i should add new tags or edit the end notes.
> 
> Thank y'all for the lovely support. It's motivated me to set aside time to write and cheered me through the frustration of trying to remember nuances.
> 
> Hope this lives up to your expectations. Feel free to comment if you have questions or suggestions. Story will likely wrap up in 2 to 3 more chapters (4000-6000 more words).

Time for a performance. 

"Who are you?" Tony shot back with false sangfroid. Maintain an equal footing if not an upper hand, right? "Criminal? Illegitimate heir? Long lost twin?" The ghost was definitely built as strong or stronger than Steve, though he came across quick, lean. Steve went on for miles - this guy looked like he could go for miles. Intense gaze, too. And evidently the ability to take down perceived intruders in the middle of the night.

The ghost tilted his head, studied Tony from the side. Neck twisted, Tony monitored him in his profile. The moonlight and shadows made it hard for Tony to make out more than the intimidating silhouette, shoulders, long hair. The intensity of the ghost's gaze was more of a sensation, an energy, than an observation. "Who are you?" The ghost repeated, emphasizing the pronoun. 

Had the situation been different, an adamant, mysterious Alpha would have been thrilling, at least intriguing. Tony's surreptitious search had revealed his rings were one - including the sharp edged multipurpose one he was rarely without - and the knots were very secure. "I can be whatever you want me to be." Tony bargained, hoping his desperation-tinged sincerity wasn't audible. Offers like that were better delivered suavely. 

"Tell me your name." The ghost ordered in a rattling growl, voice dipping into Alpha register, still sharp with wildness. It had been months since Tony'd heard this type of order, months since the harsh commands, months since the arguments, months since the physical blows, months since he'd even seen Howard due to new developments with the war, months since he'd been in danger of anything deeper than bruised pride, but it took mere moments for Tony's still frequent nightmares and flashbacks to surge up in a clamoring roar. He was alone. Defenseless. Unknown location, unknown adversary, unknown level of danger, unknown expectations, unknown time of absence, unknown future, and an Alpha was giving him orders.

Tony fought his hindbrain, but his legs and hands were secured, he was alone, he was tired, he hadn't expected this at all, and the ghost didn't want to play. Body, mind, and brain rendered situationally inconsequential, Tony was having to fight really hard. The order repeated in a deeper growl sent his forebrain scurrying to a quiet place, leaving hindbrain in its place.

"Anthony Stark Rogers," he admitted, curling in as much as he could. He knew, vaguely, he was letting off the stink of sour terror, but he focused on trying to still the instinctive shiver running through his limbs. His head went light, vision and hearing fading in and out. Must cooperate. Must appease Alpha. Must be submissive. "I'm sorry for sneaking around, Alpha." He whispered. 

A hand came towards his face, and a soft cry broke from Tony before he could fully stifle it. He clenched his teeth in the next moment, a new whiff of panic escaping him. Good omegas take what they're given. Good omegas are quiet. He ought to sit up. Ought to smile through the pain. Instead, gentle fingers slowly curled around his jaw; Tony winced instinctively at the power in the hard cold fingers. However, the grip remained kind as he was coaxed into looking at the Alpha.

The Alpha studied him, most of his face still in shadow. His scent went abruptly startled a moment before he slightly leaned forward and scented Tony, at a polite distance yet scenting thoroughly. Tony shivered again, shutting his eyes. "I'm sorry, Alpha-" he began again. 

"You smell like Stevie." The Alpha's voice started to downshift to a normal register, out of the Alpha range. "You're the omega he mated. The Duke Rogers' mate." Tony nodded mutely. The fingers on his jaw tightened slightly before they loosened and pulled away. Footsteps retreated then a thud and silence. The feral scent faded, threaded over with confusion and concern. Tony remained bowed in the chair, breathed carefully through his nose. "Lord," the ghost finally muttered, hoarse. "Such a goddamned wreck …" Something creaked and whirred. "Anthony Stark, goddamn - it is Anthony, right?" 

Tony expended one sharp nod. Howard's preferred method of address, but he was consciously working to breathe; his chosen nickname could wait. 

"Jesus." The ghost hissed. "Almost feral himself - you idiotish -" A deep breath. Tony hyper focused on the sounds, unable to look yet. "Anthony - Your Lordship? - what do you even -" the frustration cut off as soon as Tony stopped breathing. "Antonio, please breathe." Tony audibly inhaled through his nose, sneezing over the strong concern in the air. "Good omega." The ghost murmured. "Good effort. Continue, please." Tony shuddered over the next few breaths, but eventually, he had settled into a pattern that soundly reasonably normal, considering his heart was still trying to propel itself out of his chest. 

"I'm going ... could I have your permission to come close enough to release you?" 

The air Tony was regularly inhaling made its way to the recesses of his brain, loaded with a protective, attentive undercurrent. He blinked, his senses easing out of their urgency, his thoughts widening to include more than survival. "Yeah." he mumbled. He couldn't exactly stop the ghost, feral or no. "Permission, Alpha."

"James." Steve's mysterious 'he' offered. Tony blinked again, this time as his brain caught ablaze. James. Same build as Steve, military training, protective of Steve's territory, familiar with the name and family of Steve's mate, drawn from feral aggression by the last traces of Steve's scent. The ropes slid off Tony's wrists, and a tug started at his ankles, but Tony remained still as he stared down at the huge Alpha crouching before him. The tangly overgrown hair, the torn uniform. The hint of familiarity to his calmed scent. 

A memory surfaced. Weeks ago, Tony had had an unexpected last surge of heat hormones at the end of an exhausting week, and he'd pushed into Steve's room unannounced rather than summoning him to Tony's suite, just wanting to be close to something warm while he finished off the aching, consuming, thrumming ride that that heat had been. Steve had looked up from scenting a linen shirt, immediately thrusting it back in a drawer and attending to Tony. Tony hadn't asked before they finished one last knotting, and he hadn't had the energy to ask as he dozed post-orgasm. Steve has cleaned them partially, then curled behind Tony, both of them slipping into slumber quickly.

Tony had woken up before Steve, and managed to get out of bed without alerting Steve. He'd almost left, but he'd chosen to crouch by the partially cracked drawer and scented. It hadn't rung any bells, so faint as to nearly be non-existent, but it had brought tears to Tony as he crept away from the man in the bed, off to his room. His Alpha had loved someone so deeply he scented their old shirt after a week of mating that Tony had thought was excellent. Tony had tried to subtly look into who might have left the shirt, talking to older society matrons and family servants. He'd read through Army registers, but Steve had served in a mixed company that Tony had no scent references for. So he stopped. It was heartbreaking to keep trying to find out who Tony would never measure up to. 

That scent memory was James'. Tony would swear to it. James Barnes, known fondly as Bucky to those who still missed him. Young, decorated, bold and brave and beautiful. 

Tony had heard his mother mutter once that she ought to have married James' father rather than Howard. Tony assumed that held a wealth of history that contributed to Lady Barnes' decidedly cool attitude towards the Starks. As the Barnes and the Rogers households were known for their closeness, that had made for more than a few awkward moments for Tony. 

Tony frequently felt he was walking through a museum alone when he watched Steve interact with the Barnes'; such a beautiful sight, but forbidden and out of reach for him, every footstep echoing with his outsider status.

Lady Winifred was not coarse in her chill; there were no sneering snubs nor obvious disdainments. It was simply that when she looked at those she loved dearly, her heart's depths were visible, tangible, audible, unavoidable. When she looked at Tony, that sweeping feeling was distinctly absent. All her manners and all her graces could not ease the want in Tony for that precious kind of love. And he fully recognized that he could not recall a single instance of either of his parents holding such feeling for him in their gazes.

He ached, sometimes, watching through a window when Lady Winifred walked about the gardens with His Grace, their faces shimmering with laughter or bent with gunshot stormcloud emotion. She was a strong Alpha, fair and welcome almost anywhere by virtue of herself, not value of her possessions. 

Her son had taken after her, by all accounts. Tony knew the stories. He wasn't even particularly surprised that Steve had loved this man most. Tony came with no such family, no shared history, none of the shining characteristics James Barnes was reputed to be stuffed with, no thrilling school year adventures, not a single cursed but binding day out in the war. The only place Tony had ever been useful was a place responsible for the weapons that probably haunted Steve's nightmares. Maybe the weapon that supposedly killed James Barnes.

Tony blinked again, these paragraphs of thoughts having slipped through in mind in the time that it had taken to free one ankle. James started on the last binding, and Tony sucked in a sharp breath.

"Your arm." Tony whispered. It was a piece of machinery Hephaestus must have forged. "Stars, your - how did they attach, it's been thought too - dangerous, it's beautiful, what -" He cut off when the metal hand tightened around his calf, bruisingly tight. "Ow! What -" Grimacing, he hesitated over touching James. Man back from the dead with an impossible arm. Not the best man to startle. The silent moment seemed to click something in James.

The man scrabbled back with a horrified grunt, his arm whirring, gleaming fingers seizing up in a strange pattern. His face looked like a dead man's in the half moonlight he ended up crouched in, harsh and pale, shadows stretching and streaming down his features. Tony stared across the room, finally thinking through the monumental changes he was witness to. Filthy clothing, ill fitting. Long hair, prowling territories without approaching doors he'd be celebrated at. The new cold edge to his scent. A new limb, one that had to have been totally experimental, likely unethical and absolutely difficult to incorporate onto someone if one had a damn to spare for him. The fact that he had been in a feral state. That he hadn't been surprised by his state when he came out of it. The fact that he'd never come home from war, reportedly having lost his life. 

Tony had heard about the bloody shadows soldiers fell into, death the only kind spectre present.

The omega caught a new whiff of wildness, and scrabbled at the rope, not even thinking of the door. Freed, he swallowed, then edged towards James. Nonaggressive contact was advised, or so he'd been told. 

Despite the battle being staged in his head, James sat still, allowed Tony to get close before his head snapped up. They stared at each other for a split second before intuition sent Tony to his knees. It wasn't sexual; he was thrumming with omega instinct, wanting to comfort and warm this ragged Alpha who'd been lost in the cold. 

James stayed still as Tony edged in further, finally pressing against James' lower right leg. James sucked in a breath and held it longer than what seemed normal, but every second was an eternity for Tony, waiting to see if this Alpha would accept him.

James' fingers brushed Tony's hair, and Tony nearly mewled. Another brush, and James sank down besides Tony, curling over and around him. Wrapped close, quiet. They were both in such thick mutual want and need it was nearly breathable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some noncon bondage, anxiety/panic attack, scared Tony, references to nightmares, parental neglect, reference to paternal physical abuse, hurt/comfort, intense loneliness, traumitized behaviour, emotional pain, PTSD references.
> 
> James does not hurt Tony and is not in his right mind when he scares Tony. He immediately treats Tony differently when he calms down. If it's not your thing, not your thing. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves.
> 
> Please let me know if I need to add any warnings in notes or tags.


	3. Into Disarray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snoozing Bucky and stressed out sleepless Tony. Plus cuddling. And angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the comments and the patience. Please lemme know what you're looking for.

Drawing warmth from each other's proximity, James seemed to calm down admirably quick. Tony had the small grace of knowing not all his acts were useless, but it came with a problem. James began to drift towards slumber. Tony was lost. Steve wouldn't sleep with Tony in the bed. He had physically abandoned the bed the two occasions Tony had accidentally fallen asleep in the Alpha's quarters. Was that due to Steve's preferences or due to Tony's presence? 

Tony had always tried to consider Steve after those early days when Steve was made to leave the room due to Tony's selfishness. Did James share the sentiment? Tony attempted to inch away, but James' hold remained secure. Very secure, but gentle. He naturally possessed or cultivated gentle firmness excessively well when he wasn't half out of his mind.

This scenario - sheltered from the world, necessary, close - Tony had dreamt of when he was still a somewhat hopeful creature within. Oh, there was a dangerous thought to pursue. Tony moved restlessly once more, and James' chest rumbled against Tony's back, conveying his sleepy confusion perfectly well. Steve had made a similar noise when Tony had woken him, once. 

It was indescribable to be held so insistently, so irrevocably. Tony had no method of predicting what would happen when James awoke. He prayed his presence would prevent James from reverting to his feral mindset. Should Tony convince James to go to Steve? Leave James? It twinged at him. There was no genuine desire in him to turn both of his only sources of affection towards each other, and watch from the sidelines as they achieved a happily ever after he would only get in the way of. As much as he might want to, he couldn't trap Steve into a marriage Steve wanted no part of. Their union was difficult with their current mutual respect. 

What would he do afterwards then? Actually run off? Tony possessed no practical survivor knowledge. James did, but what justification could Tony offer? "My apologies, I mated with the dearest person you know, so I'll just toddle off now if you'll show me how to light a fire, pick a pocket, and surreptiously board a ship." James and Steve were too gentlemanly to stand by for this. So Tony would continue to make everyone miserable due to the awful fact of his existence once more. 

Tony's nose stung anew, so he settled back, loosening the lines of tension within himself, attempting to get his high strung emotions to soften. The best method of calming, of course, was to busy his hands, but that wouldn't work right now. His memories of the night were too fraught with tension, leading up to the fright of capture, the looming garden walls melding with his father's study, the evening breeze tinged with heavy scotch. He breathed deeply and reminded himself James had been feral. It had been unintentional. Lord, how long had James been feral?

Tony suspected James had been not disappeared under his own choice; Alphas like the Barnes' didn't just toddle off on a battlefield, leaving their entire life behind. It would not have been so surprising if Tony had, had Howard ever let Tony out from under his thumb enough to give it a try, but he couldn't picture James accomplishing it. 

He knew all too well that the private lives nobility led was often divergent from their public selves, but Tony had seen through enough cracks into the lives of the Rogers' and the Barnes'. He knew that the difference between Lady Winifred in public and Lady Winifred in private was an improvement in private: more familiar, more warm, more kind. So Tony couldn't imagine James' private relations had driven him away. Particularly not if he'd had Steve. People were supposed to struggle tooth and nail for that depth of love. 

That sent his nose stinging again. Dammit. He must refocus. A project? Project. His mind danced away to fiddle through the ideas he'd been plotting about. (His pet project was currently ways to feasibly arm and defend an entire mansion. Perhaps morning callers occasionally made him feel murderous; it was perfectly normal to figure out if servants' uniforms could be discreetly reinforced and so forth.) But weaponry ideas returned to thoughts of war and thoughts of James. Tony blinked. James, possessor of one metal arm. 

How would one even build a metal arm? There was no way it had been comfortable or ethical, but - how? His mind ran through the ideas of the motors - the machinery - the sheer miracle that it was -

His thoughts held a well-attended soiree in his head, interacting and engaging and trading about a dizzying amount. Perhaps that would have lasted until James awoke, but then the moonlight disappeared entirely. It had been dimming for several moments; however, at this moment, it was entirely absent. Tony squinted up at the skylight, realizing the moon had traveled from one side to the other side and continued onward. He still wasn't sure of location or timing, but that nocturnal progress did indicate they were getting along in the night hours. 

He drew in a more conscious breath than he had since the moon had been a presence in the shed, and the results were undeniable. The scent surrounding and relaxing him was the scent of an Alpha imprinting. James was bonding with him. His thoughts broke out of their semblance of order, the ballroom of his mind thrown into disarray.

He, a married and mated omega, was currently lying in the utterly compromising embrace of his Grace's (his mate's) dead dearest friend and suspected lover. 

Tony was likely never allowed to poke fun at operas again.


End file.
